Continuing the co-authored series. This is part seven by Stephen the original author and part ten of the overall series the other three having been written by me Chris Johns.
The whole series is copyright to the authors so please only download or print out for personal use.
The series as a whole has loads of cp and boy/boy sex so please leave this site if you are below legal age or it is illegal in your country of viewing.
Treviile Youth Correctional Camp
Part Seven by Stephen
Part Ten in the combined series with Chris Johns
I made my way across the Parade Ground to the Gym and entered quietly so as not to disturb the wrestling practice. As before, I was greeted by the sight of forty Cadets clad only in their jockstraps sitting crossed legged round the sides of the two large mats placed in the centre of the Gym.
On the mats were two pairs of Cadets wrestling each other under the watchful eye of Kurt, the Camp's Chief Instructor. The wrestling competition was the highlight of Sponsors Day, which was only two days away and Kurt was giving the boys some extra coaching.
I looked to see who were wrestling. Nat Reed, one of my lads, in Franklin Troop was wrestling a boy from Washington Troop, Billy someone, I wasn't sure of his surname, and another boy from Washington was wrestling Caleb, from Jefferson Troop. The first pair looked pretty well matched, but the lad partnered with Caleb looked pretty slight in comparison, though he was fast. As I watched, Caleb made a lunge for the boy, who darted out of the way -- "nice one," I thought. Caleb rushed in again, but this time the lad took a step back and raised his knee high, whether he intended to knee Caleb in the balls or whether Caleb just ran into it wasn't clear, but you could hear the smack of flesh hitting flesh. Caleb crumpled to the floor hugging his bulging jockstrap. The other lad rushed upon him, but before he could get him in a hold, Kurt blew his whistle and signalled for the boy to wait.
I couldn't help grinning as I thought back to this morning's practice and how Brad, one of the boys in my Troop had been defeated by Caleb's sustained attack on his bollocks. Caleb had grabbed Brad's balls through his jock and practically ripped Brad's jockstrap off, squeezing his nuts hard until he had been permitted to concede the round by pressing his shoulders on the mat. "Serves Caleb right," I thought.
Kurt told Caleb to get up and called for both pairs to break. He gave them a minute, then told them to wrestle again. Caleb still looked done in from his encounter with his opponent's knee, and was crouched-over, looking pained. The skinny lad from Washington moved in, but as he did so Caleb sprung at him like a tiger. By sheer weight and momentum, and a sweep to his opponent's leg, he had the boy on the mat in a flash, and delivered two punches in quick succession to his opponents balls. The boy from Washington, hugged his nuts, but Caleb pulled first one arm away and pinned in down with his knee, then pulled the boy's other arm free and locked it against his shoulder. Caleb took careful aim, then brought his fist down hard and fast, smashing it hard into the lad's groin. The lad uttered a stifled cry and opened his mouth so wide I thought he was going to spit his balls out, but before he had time to catch his breath, Caleb had rolled him on his front and was kneeling on him, forcing him flat down on the mat. Then Caleb reached between the boys spread legs and grabbed his balls from behind. Caleb had not even bothered to maintain the semblance of wrestling in "costume", but had thrust his hand inside his opponent's jockstrap to grab his balls. I saw his wrist twist before pulling back. The look on Caleb's face was sheer hatred, but it changed to an evil smile as he tightened his fist.
The Washington boy screamed and began slapping his arm on the mat, but Caleb kept squeezing his balls. Kurt looked on as if gauging the situation; he bent down and asked the Washington boy if he conceded. The boy was frantically shouting "You win, let me go!" - it looked as if Kurt was enjoying the spectacle, and Caleb was certainly enjoying his revenge. "Are you sure you concede defeat," Kurt asked the lad. I could tell Caleb was relishing the extra time Kurt was giving him to carry on squeezing the boy's balls. The boy could hardly talk, but Kurt insisted that he formally conceded defeat before he told them to break -- with a final hard squeeze Caleb got to his feet.
The boy from Washington lay writhing on the mat, clutching his balls and rolling from side to side. The whole room uttered a sigh, and I realised we had all been holding our breath. I also realised I was rock hard, and looking at Caleb standing victorious, so was he; it looked as if his jockstrap was about to burst. He really gets off on fighting dirty I thought, but glancing down the line of flushed faces and bulging jockstraps of the boys watching, it looked as if we had all felt the same sense of excitement.
The other pair of contestants had both had one eye on the proceedings and had, as if by some un-signalled mutual agreement, ceased wrestling. Now, Billy, the lad from Washington, grabbed Nat's arms and slithering to the floor and kicked his foot up between Nat's legs as he pulled Nat forward. Billy's foot connected hard with Nat's nuts before lifting him clear off the floor. Nat rocked forward and was momentarily suspended on the boy's leg, his whole weight pressing down on his balls, squashed under him, before toppling down onto Billy.
Instinct rather than wrestling skill must have taken over since as he fell headlong onto Billy, Nat brought his knee up smashing it into Washington boy's exposed groin. Both boys had obviously decided to take a leaf from Caleb's style of fighting, and as they lay wrestling on the mat, their opponent's balls appeared to be the main target for attack. Nat was on top now, with one leg between Billy's, and took every opportunity in their struggles to thrust his knee up into Billy's package, as he tried to pin the lad down. Both boys were well matched and neither was giving up, first one was on top, then the other, and Billy was giving as good as he was getting. As I watched, it was evident that both boys had full-blown boners, despite the fact that they had both been kneed in the balls several times by their opponent. It was so erotic watching these two teen warriors wrestling practically naked; their now rock hard cocks held tight against their belly by their jockstrap, only serving to display their balls better as inviting easy targets.
Eventually, just as it looked as if Nat would succeed in pinning down Billy, he opened himself up; as he leaned forward to push Billy's shoulders down, Billy brought his knee up so hard Nat was catapulted off him. Nat lay rolling on the mat, both his hands clasping his aching nuts.
As if waiting for such an outcome Kurt called time, and after lining-up the assembled cadets told them to dress, informing them that he would be selecting the cadets who would represent their troops in the wrestling competition later that day. After dismissing the Cadets they rushed back to their bunkhouses to take a quick shower before tea.
I followed my boys of Franklin Troop, at a more leisurely pace, back to the bunkhouse and when I entered most were naked and running for the showers. The conversation as I opened the door seamed to be centred upon who had hit whom hardest in the balls, and Nat yelled out about his "fucking aching balls", just as I entered the room. His voice trailed away in the sudden silence which marked my entrance. "Cadet Reed, wait outside my room," I told him.
"You other cadets in the showers; now!" I shouted. Nat Reed was still wearing his jock as he ran to wait outside my room, and as the other boys ran to the showers I noticed many had the obvious signs of a recent paddling. It appeared Kurt was still awarding the loser 5 swats of the paddle as a motivator.
I went to my room and unlocked the door, bidding Nat to come in after me. Once inside I told him that the mandatory punishment for swearing was five licks, but that after his outburst, I had better examine his testicles first, and told him to step out of his jock and stand legs apart with his hands behind his head.
I pulled my chair in front of him and sat down. I told Nat to look to the side and grasped his testicles and stretched them down. They were red and clearly a bit swollen, but I guessed he hadn't really damaged himself, but I would take my time and relish the opportunity to make it a thorough examination. I started at the top making sure nothing was twisted; squeezing his balls firmly; stretched them down to the maximum. I could feel his balls hard and firm in my hand, and I squeezed harder, whilst I ran my fingers of my other hand up and down his stretched ball sac, feeling for any knotted tubes. As I had hoped, stretching Nat's balls hard had made his cock rise and he was now sporting a hard-on any teen boy would be proud of, despite his obvious discomfort.
I now separated his testicles and gave each ball a good examination, pressing and squeezing each nut from every direction and angle, asking him to tell me when "it really hurt".
"Yes", "Now", Nat kept croaking, as I conducted my relentless probing and squeezing of his swollen teen-balls. Under my ministrations his left bollock had turned a deeper shade of red, and his cock was glistening with pre-cum, before I declared myself satisfied with that nut.
Nat's right nut was either naturally bigger or was more swollen, but spurred on by the reaction of Nat groaning and panting, and his leaking cock, I subjected his right bollock to an even firmer examination. Squeezing it and pushing my thumb in from every angle until he gasped and groaned. Nat was shaking visibly and I thought he might come, his cock was leaking so badly, so I concluded my examination saying that I thought he had only got "a typical boy's knock, and to quit making a fuss about it".
I told Nat to bend over the chair and gave him five quick swats, turning his butt a deep red, then told him to hit the showers and that I would examine his balls again before lights out.
I was standing watching Franklin troop in the showers, when Kurt burst through the bunkhouse doors pushing a small barrow, which he parked by the door. He came over to me and told me he had brought the Cadet's Dress Uniforms, and then called them to assemble in the dorm by their beds. The cadets, well drilled, ran skidding to stand naked at the foot of their beds, and then reading from a sheet, Kurt called out the name of each boy in turn and told him to come and collect "his No. 1s".
Kurt had obviously consulted his chart of the boys' measurements in advance and quickly issued the uniforms, before telling them to towel themselves dry, then try them on. "T-shirts and jocks to be worn under." The Cadets quickly dress as instructed, and I watched fascinated as they donned their uniforms. The white trousers were really sexy. Real tight round the thighs and arse, and instead of a regular central fly they had a flap of material that buttoned on both sides; narrow at the base it widened to about five inches wide at the waist, with small brass buttons running down both sides. With just a jockstrap under, their well developed teenage packages were lifted high and thrust forward to be encompassed by the soft white cloth of the uniform. A blue-grey military jacket complemented the uniform trousers, in a style we call "bum-freezers" in England.
Kurt went round inspecting the troop; inserting a couple of fingers inside the waist band, and occasionally telling a Cadet to bend over and touch his toes. Then Kurt dished out the white military peeked caps, and a pair of white gloves for each boy, and instructed them on how to wear their caps, before telling them to stand by their beds for inspection.
Kurt took his time inspecting the cadets, then told them that they were to polish their boots tonight, and that if they couldn't see their faces in them, it would be 5 swats. Appearing satisfied he threw each cadet a plastic hanger and then read out the list of Cadets from Franklin who would be competing the day after tomorrow, adding that they were to report back to the Gym after tea for a bit of extra coaching.
After he had gone a buzz of excitement swept round the bunkhouse. I was really touched by how excited the cadets were to be wearing their dress uniforms, and how my troop was congratulating those chosen to represent us in the wresting match. Tea was a very light-hearted affair compared to the usual restrained meal, and the Cadets even set about polishing their boots with enthusiasm.
Brad, Jess and Nat had all been selected for the wrestling team, as had Joe Regan and Craige, and I couldn't help but wonder whether Kurt had made his selection as much on the size of the boy's packages as their wrestling prowess. I recalled how Joe had the biggest cock in my troop, at over 9 inches and Craig's nuts were the size of tomatoes.
An hour or so later, they came running in exhausted, and I told them to go take a shower. Kurt came in and told me to make sure they shaved completely tonight -- "No trace of pubes, and shave yer balls as well," he instructed, before leaving.
After their showers, I called each boy into my room in turn and gave them a close shave with the cut-throat razor, removing every trace of stubble and fluff from their groin and butt. Kurt had told me to be extra vigilant over the last week, and to make sure there was no wanking in the dorms, and I could feel the weight of their balls, heavy in my hand, as I shaved them -- I could tell these boys were just bursting.
As I shaved Nat's balls I noticed they were even more swollen than when I had examined him earlier, and he confided that Kurt's private coaching had consisted almost exclusively of grabs, throws and lifts, targeted at your opponent's testicles. In the practice session Kurt had demonstrated these techniques on each boy in turn, before requiring them to practice on each other, and that there would be a further coaching session tomorrow afternoon.
Just before lights out, I examined Nat's testicles once more; they were definitely swollen but, after a few minutes spent squeezing each ball, I concluded they were just a bit sore. I could tell he was bursting to jerk-off, but I was under strict orders that there was to be no masturbating before the match, so that night made sure that all the cadets were well secured in their special sleeping "drawers".
The next day passed uneventfully with the cadets cleaning and polishing, two practice sessions of the assault course, a full dress uniform parade, and a further private coaching session with Kurt, but despite the monotony we were all shattered by bedtime. I made sure the canvas drawers they wore in bed were well secured at the back, and that the straps that ran either side of the groin and between the legs were tightly fastened at the back. Then, I switched out the lights.
At seven-thirty sharp we were awoken by the morning bell, and after dressing quickly we ran to take breakfast in the mess hall. It was a wonderful sunny Saturday morning, and it promised to be superb weather for Sponsor's Day.
The Cadets had changed into their No 1s to greet the sponsors, and sat waiting in the hall. Then, shortly before 10 o' clock, the first cars were spotted, and the cadets were called to assemble on the Parade Ground.
A cavalcade of Cadillacs, Lincolns and other assorted limousines swept into the Camp; the guards at the gates saluted. The cars parked and disgorge their occupants, who were escorted by "Patrol Leaders" to where the Reverend Jackson stood with his two young daughters.
I had met his daughters, Mary Lou and Jessica a couple of times before, and they looked the epitome of innocence, with their platted hair, childish frocks and white socks, but I suspected they were far from innocent in their thoughts. The eldest, Mary Lou was fifteen, and certainly well developed under her modest blouse, and I had seen how she and her younger sister, Jessica, eyed up the boys when they exercised in just their shorts.
After a few minutes, Kurt called the assembled Cadets to attention and the party of dignitaries began the honour inspection. The Rev Jackson leading, the guests following, and with the Reverend's daughters taking up the rear, they began to walk slowly down the lines of assembled Cadets.
Jessica was sucking a lollypop of all things, and the gap between them and the other guests lengthened until soon the Reverend had completed inspecting the first line and turned to the row behind. The girls were in no hurry and stood only inches from the boys, as they ran their eyes up and down each boy in turn. By the time they reached my troop the girls were a full line behind the Rev. Jackson and his party and, as they passed, I heard them whispering and giggling. They stopped in front of each boy as he stood to attention and after looking at his face their eyes descended to the boy's white dress uniform trousers. The double rows of brass buttons either side of the groin might have been in keeping with Civil War uniforms, but it sure emphasised their package. With only a jockstrap under, the single layer of soft cloth moulded itself to their bulge, taking on the profile of the jockstrap beneath.
Jessica was sucking her lollypop in a most suggestive fashion, and as they stood in front of Joe, giggling and whispering, Joe's face turned bright red. I glanced at where they were staring. "Bloody Hell!" it was clear from the huge bulge in the front of his trousers that Joe had popped a boner. Jessica stood in front of him sucking the end of her lollypop as she stared hard at his tenting trousers, before pushing it her lollypop deep into her mouth. Looking back down the line, I could see that Joe was not the only Cadet to be in that predicament. The next instant Mary Lou had the camera she was carrying to her eye and had taken a picture. There was nothing any of us could do but wait for the little scamps to pass down the line.
Fortunately, the Reverend Jackson and the visiting dignitaries soon completed the inspection and Kurt called for the parade to turn to their right, then to the sound of martial music, we marched off, to the seating area and, by columns of ten, filed in to take our seats. During the inspection a large number of other civilians had arrived and had taken the seats assigned to them opposite us. The Rev. Jackson commenced the address by outlining the success of the Camp over the years, and by thanking some of the dignitaries for attending, and thanking the sponsors for supporting the programme.
Kurt had told me about the sponsorship programme, and how local, and not so local, rich-folk could sponsor a kid through the Camp, and how once each term they were invited to attend and meet their protégé. Since they were paying the boy's fees, the Camp gave them near full parental authority, and this was no doubt part of the attraction of the scheme. Concluding his address, the Rev. Jackson read out the list of sponsored Cadets, along with the names of the boys sent by the Department of Juvenile Correction who were to report to the mess hall. The Cadets were then dismissed and rushed off to change into their PT kit.
I followed the boys sent to the mess hall and watched as each cadet was told the table number to go to. In another line, the Rev. Jackson was telling the sponsors which table their charges were at and handing them an envelope.
Many sponsors had more than one Cadet sitting at their table, but at a table close to me a powerfully built man sat down opposite Jes Watkins, one of the lads in my troop. I watched as he opened the envelope and took out Jes' report card and a conduct sheet; he read it slowly, licking his lips occasionally; Jes looked nervous. I sauntered over and introduced myself as Jes' instructor. We shook hands and the man said he was from the County's Juvenile Correction Board and that he was in loco parentis of Jes. He thought the Camp did an excellent job in turning round troubled teens, providing just the sort of discipline that was needed -- "OK then Jes, he said, I'll see you in the gym in 15 minutes, and with that he walked off."
I mingled with the other sponsors, by now enjoying drinks served by some of the older Cadets, acting as stewards. In deference to the large number of military men and State officials, the Reverend had laid aside the normal rule forbidding alcohol on the Camp premises and most guests chose to accept the proffered glasses of famous Tennessee Sour Mash rather than orange juice. It was a surprisingly mixed crowd composed almost equally of civilians and those in uniform. Most of the civilians were probably businessmen, but there were a couple of Senators, a Judge and several men from the Board of Correction, Kurt told me.
The Rev. Jackson tapped a glass and the conversation died to hushed whispers. "Good morning Gentlemen", he announced. "As is customary, having studied the report cards and conduct sheets of the Cadets, as Sponsor, you will be given the opportunity to discipline your charges in the manner you think fit. The first session will be in about 5 minutes, in the Gym, but due to our tight schedule there will be a second session for those Cadets competing in the wrestling competition after the match. We suggest that you make those competing in the match aware of the need to compete hard. I would also like to remind you that whilst you may hand spank as you see fit, the maximum number of strokes with an implement of correction is 18, and for safety must be administered to the Cadet's posterior over the horse. Unless, that is, the boy has been sent here by the Board of Correction, in which case the Board's regulations permit a maximum of 24 strokes. However, as time is limited, I would ask you to accompany me now. Thank you Gentlemen -- follow me, please."
To a genial buzz of excitement the assembled sponsors followed the Reverend outside and across the Parade Ground to the Gym. As we entered, I was struck by the transformation; well-spaced chairs occupied the floor in a semicircle, facing a recently erected stage on which the wrestling competition would take place, but now in its centre stood the vaulting horse. The fire doors stood ajar and Kurt went and closed them. On a small table near the horse was arranged a collection of paddles, a razor strop and a couple of canes. The sponsors quickly chose a chair, took of their jackets and, as if on cue, sat down and rolled up their sleeves
The Reverend mounted the stage and held his hand up for silence. "Gentlemen," he said, "a child must learn to obey by discipline, and it is our Christian duty to instil discipline and correct moral values; to withhold discipline from a child is not only foolish, it is wicked, and contrary to the word of God". "The Bible tells us that foolishness is bound in the heart of a child. The rod of correction will drive it far from him - Proverbs 22:15. Furthermore, God commands us not withhold correction from a child, for if you beat him with a rod, he will not die, but you deliver his soul from hell, Proverbs 23:13." Picking up a cane from the table the Reverend brought it down with a loud "CRACK!" "Chasten your sons while there is hope! Proverbs 19:18, he cried.
He strode down the steps and walked out the doors. A few minutes later we heard the sound of marching feet, and four Cadets in dress uniform led a column of boys dressed in PT shorts into the Gym. Two further uniformed Cadets brought up the rear, and remained by the doors as the Cadets formed a single line along the wall. Kurt called them to attention; then bid them call out their name and table number in turn. As each Cadet called out his number, a sponsor raised his hand as if bidding for the boy, and called out "over here son," or here boy", and the Cadet marched smartly to take his place standing next to his seated sponsor.
When all the Cadets had taken their places, Kurt announced that Cadets sponsored at the Camp owed a special responsibility to their sponsors to study hard, work diligently and conduct themselves in an exemplary manner. Since many of them had absent fathers, the sponsors, being in loco parentis, would now administer the traditional parental discipline they so sadly lacked at home.
As I watched, the sponsors set about their duties with enthusiasm. Some had their charges climb over their knees still wearing their shorts; some told them to lower their shorts and climb over a knee wearing just their jockstrap; some told their charges to strip completely; while yet others took it upon themselves to lower the boys' shorts and jockstrap before commanding the naked boy to get over their knee.
Soon the room was filled with the sound of spanking as each sponsor settled in to disciplining his charges. Some sponsors spanked slow and hard, making the boy count them out; while others delivered rapid bursts that sounded like machine gun fire - and the sponsors had their charges in every kind of position, from both hands on the floor, or grasping the chair legs, to holding an arm bent behind their back.
The noise level in the room increased as sponsors competed with each other to deliver the loudest smack, and to generate the loudest yell from their wayward Cadet. One pair of sponsors had placed four chairs together to form two pairs back to back and had their naked Cadets kneeling over the chairs side by side, facing each other, each boy's face only inches from the other's cock, as their respective sponsors took it in turns to spank the upraised butts.
The atmosphere was electric and you could smell the pheromoneal scent of adolescent males, mingling with the sweat of the older men. I wandered round the room discreetly - after ten minutes spanking every Cadet already had a bright red arse, and there was no indication that the sponsors felt inclined to ease-up.
Most of the younger Cadets were already in tears and begging for their sponsors to stop, but if anything, it served only to spur them on to greater efforts. Several boys were bucking so hard that it looked as if they risked coming on their sponsor's lap, and quite a few sponsors had decided that the best way to keep their boy still was to hold his dick or balls tight to keep him in place.
As I wondered past the cupboard in the Gym where the horse was normally stored I thought I heard a noise coming from inside, and noticed the door was slightly ajar, but now was not the time to investigate -- I would check that out later.
After a further five minutes spanking, Kurt called in a loud voice for all the Cadets to stand naked legs wide apart facing the wall for inspection. With a final smack, the sponsors released their prey who ran, painfully, to the far wall to stand with their hands behind their heads, displaying their well spanked rear-ends.
The Cadets stood in silence for three minutes, giving the sponsors time to catch their breath as they admired the long line of cherry-red bottoms. Then, Kurt told the Cadets to about face, but to keep their hands locked behind their heads. As the Cadets turned to face us, we were greeted by the sight of every single cadet sporting an erection -- not one Cadet did not have a cock pointing skyward, and their faces were as red as their butts.
Kurt read out a name from his list and the first boy stepped forward. Kurt ordered him to march forward ascend the stage and get over the horse. A cute blond lad from Washington troop, he walked awkwardly forward, his cock bobbing up and down, to mount the horse. As he went to lie over the horse, Kurt pushed his rock hard cock down between his legs; it pointed straight down lifting his tight balls to nestle at the base of his butt.
Kurt nodded to the boy's sponsor to come forward and a middle-aged gentlemen rose to his feet and walked up the steps to the stage. Two uniformed Cadets had each taken hold of the boys arms and were stretching him tightly, as two more uniformed cadets separated his legs wide apart and held them. The Cadet's sponsor moved to the side table and selected his chosen implement for punishment; he chose the razor strap.
As he approached the horse he told the Cadets holding the boy to pull him over further and they pulled his arms down further lifting the boy clear off his feet. He told the other two Cadets to stretch his legs further apart and they complied. The Washington Cadet was now perched high on the horse, and his erect cock jutting back near horizontal, his tight teen balls vulnerable and displayed for all to see raised up by his swollen cock.
Savouring the sight, the sponsor flicked the razor strap through the air a couple of times, before aiming and at the boy's arse and bringing it down hard and fast. It exploded with a "Bang!" and the boy screamed. A wide red horizontal band appeared across the centre of the boy's arse, and he appeared to jump up, despite being restrained. The Cadets held him tighter and his tormentor took aim again. This time he lifted the strap even higher and brought it down faster, causing an even louder "Bang!" as it struck flesh. The boy screamed again and the wide stripe took on a deeper colour. The man paused, then took aim again, delivering the third swing just as hard, and as accurately - I could tell that all three of these strokes had landed neatly on top of each other. Despite being held by four senior Cadets, the boy from Washington troop was bucking like crazy. "Bang!" the fourth stroke was a little higher but still overlapped the earlier.
The sponsor stepped closer and placing a hand on the Cadet's red arse stretched the boy's buttocks wide apart before bringing the strop down hard between his stretched cheeks. The cadet howled and bucked, only to be rewarded by another swat, aimed at his quivering pink hole. Two more swats followed from the other side, aimed at his stretched hole, before his sponsor delivered a real stinger across both butt cheeks, right in line with his arsehole.
Not content with this assault on the boy's most tender area, his sponsor stretched the Cadet's buttocks wider and delivered two more, well aimed, swats in rapid succession, as if seeking entry for the strop into the Cadet's inner regions. The boy's bucking had become frantic, and now as he lifted his butt, it received a hard smack with the strop.
Despite the concerted attack on his hole, the boy's cock remained rigid, and was now leaking so much that a long thread of pre-cum was dribbling down from his knob. From my count, he had already received 12 strokes with the strop, and now with the thirteenth, his cock erupted and he shot a big jet of spunk behind him. But, before he had even finished spunking, his sponsor delivered a low swat with the strop right across the cadet's raised balls, causing him to both scream in pain, but also emit another spurt.
The boy's jizim lay like silver threads across the canvas covered mats of the stage. As if this was the most normal thing, the sponsor slowly walked to the table and put down the razor strop, before selecting a cane.
He thrashed the cane through the air a few times before returning to his position. Then, after tapping the Cadet's bottom a few times, delivered four perfectly parallel cuts across the Cadet's well-thrashed bottom. Too exhausted and spent to move, the young Cadet lay sobbing and utterly spent, as each stroke of the cane drew a deep purple line on his arse.
The whole assembly had watched spell bound by the performance, and I almost expected the room to burst into applause, but instead there was a shuffling and collective sigh, and I realised that everyone watching had been holding their breath so as not to break the spell.
Kurt called out the name and number of the next Cadet to be punished, and he came to attention and marched forward. Despite his forthcoming ordeal, his cock was rock- hard as he mounted the horse. Kurt had meanwhile adjusted the roll of rough towelling that lay on top of the horse, so that it lifted the boy's red buttocks even higher. His sponsor walked to the table and picked up the drilled paddle. "Count them out Boy," he ordered. His sponsor I recognised as being one of the Senators whom Kurt had pointed out - a powerfully built man in his late forties. He stood to the left of the boy, and appeared in no rush as he carefully positioned himself. Then lifting the paddle high, he brought it down hard and fast. It exploded on the Cadet's arse with a terrific "BANG!" which echoed round the Gym. The Cadet's scream was equally loud. The Senator waited and the seconds ticked by. The Senator had already lifted the paddle high again, and when the Cadet had managed to compose himself and to call out "One, Sir," he brought it crashing down again. Barely had the count left the boy's mouth before he uttered another piercing yell. The Senator stood waiting, the paddle held high. After a pause, the Cadet called out "Two, Sir," and again the paddle sped down with a "CRASH!"
By the sixth stroke the Cadet's yells were high pitched and he was in tears, and gap lengthen between him calling out each number and his voice had taken on the faltering tone of an adolescent. After the sixth stroke the Senator paused and walked back to the table and replaced the paddle. The boy lay panting across the horse, and I had thought the punishment had finished, but that was not to be.
After a moments pause, the Senator picked up the razor strop and returned once more to the punishment horse. The Cadet's buttocks were a deep red from the whuppn he had received with the paddle, and the Senator ran his hand across them as he told the Cadets restraining the boy to pull him higher over the horse. The uniformed Cadets pulled him onto the horse, so that he was practically horizontal with only his legs below his knees off the horse; the rolled towel lifting his butt up high. The Senator stood behind the boy and reached between the Cadets legs, adjusting his position and spreading his legs either side of the horse. When he stood aside, I could see the Cadet's rock hard cock pointing down vertically, its purple knob end against the grey towelling roll.
Flicking the strop a few times to judge its weight, the Senator judged his position, then bringing the strop back at arms length he brought it whizzing through the air to strike dead centre of the Cadet's upraised pert buttocks.
With a howl the boy wriggled his butt, to be rewarded by another hard lick with the strop. He uttered another howl of pain and lifted his butt again. Again the strop smashed down, and again he howled, jerking his bottom up as if seeking escape, but the more he howled and wriggled the harder and faster the Senator whupped him. The Cadet was going crazy, his now scarlet arse bouncing up and down as if he was humping the horse.
The Senator matched the pace of the Cadet; strapping his bouncing butt with increasing severity every time he lifted it. The Cadets holding his legs had them stretched wide apart, but they either could not hold him down in this position, or chose not too, as his arse bounced up and down ever more frantically. It was a wild sight to watch as the kid's arse got the blistering of a lifetime, and I wondered when it would end.
With each stroke of the strop the Cadet bucked more, and the more he bucked the harder the Senator stropped him. I could see the perspiration patch under the Senator's arm as he raised the strop, he was surely putting all his effort into the task. By the ninth stroke the Cadet was bucking furiously, but this seamed only to spur the Senator on to greater exertions, until on the tenth stroke the boy uttered a strangled cry and his cock pumped jet after jet of hot teen spunk onto the horse, to dribble slowly down the black leather. The Senator watched in satisfaction, as if it was what he had been waiting for, then delivered the last two final stokes, causing the Cadet to buck some more, it was as if he was milking every drop of spunk from the boy with his whupping.
"Bloody hell," I had seen both Cadets get their arses blistered till they had ejaculated. I couldn't help thinking that the Reverend should have been present to witness "the second coming!"
Kurt called the Cadets up in turn to get over the horse for punishment, and appeared to make his selection on the basis of which boy had the strongest erection -- not an easy decision, given that most of the Cadets had rigid straining cocks! Spoilt for choice of implement, several sponsors chose to give a combination of paddle, strap and cane in their own order of preference.
The performance proceeded as each Cadet was called to the horse for punishment by his sponsor. No wonder the Camp could afford to offer so many places to under privileged kids, if the sponsors could tan the arses of these cute teen boys so vigorously once a term. Finally, the last Cadet was called up to take his place over the horse. He was shaking visibly though he tried to look calm as he walked towards the stage and mounted the steps. A rather older boy with dark hair, he was slim but had the muscle development gained by having spent several months at the Camp.
As he walked naked down the hall, his well developed, and so recently hard, young cock swung between his legs. Although no longer hard, the boy's cock looked a good six-inches and he had low hanging balls to match. The whole package swung about with every step he took. "God, no wonder they make the kids wear jocks all the time," I thought.
The lad positioned himself over the horse and the Cadets spread his legs wide while those holding his arms stretched him so that he was standing on his toes. His rounded buttocks, already red from the hand spanking, were pushed back as if begging for further punishment. His sponsor, a well build military officer, marched to the stage and walked purposefully to the side table and took up a large drilled paddle. Striding purposefully to stand next to his Cadet, he raised the paddle to shoulder height and brought it down with force -- "CRACK!"
"One, Sir," the young Cadet shouted out. We were all struck by the resolute way in which the Cadet had taken the swat and had replied in a firm voice. The officer raised the paddle again, paused, then delivered a second hard swat. "CRACK!" "Two, Sir," the Cadet called out. Again, the officer paused then raised the paddle and brought it down faster than before and it exploded on the boy's arse. A moment passed, then the Cadet replied "Three, Sir," in a steeled voice.
It was not until the sixth stroke that the Cadet's voice quavered and a sob escaped, but he still manfully called out the numbers. The officer gave him a little longer to recover, then administered another six hard swats before placing the paddle on the table. The Cadet's arse glowed a deep red, the military man had certainly not held back in administering the punishment with the force he believed it warranted, and the drilled paddle had whistled through the air, but the boy had counted out the twelve swats in a firm voice. His sponsor stood waiting then told the Cadets to release the boy, who stood and turned to face him. The Cadet brushed the tears from his eyes then extended his hard to his sponsor "Thank you, Sir" he said, as he shook hands.
It was so touching; and I noticed a few sponsors brush their eyes. These had been a dozen hard swats indeed, but there was clearly a bond between the man and boy and I could tell that both were proud about the way the Cadet had taken his punishment. It was a sobering moment, as those gathered were reminded of the responsibilities of being a sponsor.
After the last Cadet had received his loco-parentis punishment on stage, Kurt announced that, to maintain the schedule, the remaining punishments would be conduced after the wresting match, and that sponsors would now have a 20 minute refreshment and comfort break, before watching the Cadets tackle the assault course. Dismissing the Cadets, Kurt led us back into the mess hall where drinks were served.
I doubted if the Cadets now running from the Gym would obtain any comfort during the break -- their arses must feel on fire, I thought. But, the sponsors seemed in even better humour as they partook of their second round of drinks before lunch, and there was noisy laughter as they talked to each other, discussing how different boys had taken their punishments.
The Reverend Jackson was certainly knocking back the drink which rather shocked me, as I had assumed from his talk of sin and wickedness that he would be a "tea totaller" but clearly I was wrong. He and the Senator were topping up their glasses like there was no tomorrow. Just then Jessica and Mary Lou came running down the corridor and burst into the room. But, immediately they composed themselves and adopted the sweet and innocent manner expected by their Father and sauntered over to the drinks table to get a Coke.
I glanced at my watch; there was just time for me to call by the Gym again before going with the others to watch the Cadets tackle the assault course; there was something I wanted to check-out.
The lights were still on in the Gym and the horse was on the stage. I walked over to the table and idly picked up the razor strop. It was still warm from all the pounding it had given to the Cadets' arses. I put it back and glanced about, the fire exit door was not closed properly and I went to close it. As I passed the cupboard in which the horse was normally stored, I noticed that the door to that was also not shut properly. But, just then a dozen Cadets ran into the Gym and, while four boys carted off the horse and put it back in the cupboard, the remaining Cadets began rearranging the chairs in straight lines facing the stage. They had finished it all within five minutes and with a cheery "Come on, Sir, it's the Assault Course Trials now," sped out again at the double.
They were right, I had better get a move on or I would be late. Both the Assault Course Trials and the Wrestling Match, after lunch, were the highlights of the day -- not forgetting the punishment session I had just witnessed! I ran out of the Gym nearly as excited as the boys.
Stephen has another chapter under construction that looks as though it will be as steamy as this one.
If you want it quickly let Stephen know how much you enjoy his writing. It always spurs me on when I receive your emails so let's hope it has the same effect on him.